The Diamond Sea
by jamiesgotagun15
Summary: There's Someone Else Lurking Around in the Basement. Role Reversal One. Updated. Minor summary to refresh: A soulfull vampire Faith becomes Buffy's new project.
1. Chapter 1

**The Diamond Sea**

Disc: I. Own. Nothing.

Note: Okay, like said, this is number one in a series of Role Reversals being written. History must be changed a bit, so **PLEASE READ:** We shall assume that sometime during Faith's time in Los Angeles she was sired. Kay? Doesn't matter, where, when, how, or why. She was just sired. Nextly, Buffy has previously known about it. Doesn't matter how, when, where, or why. But she knows about it. We'll say there was probably a brief encounter, a draw, and that was that. Oh, and we're going to assume there are er... slight feelings for each other? Not much. Probably just a .. bond, thing. Also, Spike, since he has part in the role reversal, did not attempt to hurt Buffy in the end of Season Six, which means he did not try and go get his soul n' junk. He's just.. Spike. He's not even in this story at the moment. So, we don't need to worry about that. Confused? Me too. Let's get on with it now.

(Line Break)

--just a slight tremor beneath her feet. It was something not even a small field mouse could hear if he were sitting right next to it. Luckily though, Slayer hearing could extend past the boundaries of simple mice. Her stance, two feet frozen in place, her body turned and stuck in another, facing the dusty, though newly painted door that had stumbled upon her. She hadn't seen it during her trek around re-opened Sunnydale High, and wasn't pleased that she was seeing it now.

Buffy Summers, one normal paranoid parental figure with outrageous super powers to be completely and totally jealous of, couldn't shake the small, nagging fairy in the back of her head, pushing her onwards, onward through the school. She _would_ find something potentially dangerous and _would_ fix it. Though just moments ago, before the basement floor below her had gurgled and burped up at her Jimmy Choo'd feet, she had felt the familiar, all too relaxing, flooding wash of relief over her mind.

She couldn't find one thing wrong with this school, that is, until now. Now, she wasn't dressed for the occasion of vampire and hell-mouth material at the moment, but persuasion? Yes, that she could do.

No single students were roaming the halls, or that certain hall at the moment, which would seem to mean no furtive glances and actions would need to be taken, though on usual habit, Buffy secretively peered around, opened the door with the quietest breaking of the lock's inner mechanisms, and slipped inside.

Before her big toe had even set through the doorframe, a hot puff of steamed air let loose and Buffy was unobtrusively reminded of California humidity and what it did to her hair. She shut the door behind her, inhaled one long, last breath of cool air, and descended the stone, concrete steps down to the basement's floor. One single light, hanging eerily from a bulb in the middle of the cramped, covered room glowed a soft, dim slither of light. Boxes, crates, shelves, all either completely unused and forgotten, or filled to the rim with out of date technology blocked the path Buffy made with her feet.

As cliché as it goes, a small, dripping line of water fell and piled in the corner, a moist edge of wall where a few rats skittered by, on an unending hunt for food. It seemed too important not to touch _any_thing she may see in here. The patches of what she would guess to be mold seemed to keep the walls upright, whereas the rats and bugs crawling amongst the cement floor were the peoples it treated.

Ugh, disgusting. She was definitely using _all_ of the Germ-X at her desk when she got back. Nasty, slimy, even green demons she could handle. But dust, grime? _Mold?_ Don't think so.

Ducking beneath what could have been a figment of her imagination, but just simply begged to be a cobweb in Buffy's mind, the Slayer followed the lengthy, switching corridors like a science experiment, headed for the cheese.

The hanging light's dim help had long since abandoned her, many twists and turns ago. Though, just of the Slayer's luck, or possibly the luck that comes in many modern horror films and television series, a flashlight had found its way onto one of the forsaken shelves.

Buffy flashed her new and only weapon, squinting into the hidden, shadowed room and felt her feet freeze into that inevitable, completely frozen posture once more. Her muscles tensed, the grip on the flashlight tightened to a metal bending force, though thankfully the handle seemed to stay in submission. Something, off towards the right wing of her peripheral vision, fluttered, shifted, and then settled again.

One step—

… Another, and another-

The shadow took shape, the shape, though completely darkened, a silhouette, and Buffy silently made out a crouched, hidden form of a person, dark against the grey cement of the walls.

Caution pooled around the Slayer's mind and hands as attack seemed to be the first and foremost option available, although approach cautiously and present with tender-loving care wasn't close behind.

"Hello?" Her voice cracked, though spread quickly throughout the basement floor, and should have easily reached the figure.

…

It stood; it trembled, crouched momentarily on all fours until rather ungracefully coming to two feet. Okay, so it should be human. Or at least, not demon. Maybe. Hopefully.

Buffy moved one more step, scooting one more inch—

Another rat made its debut—

The figure jumped, clawed, roared at the sprinting rodent and flew from the crouched position to hands outstretched, grabbing, fishing until getting a hold of the animal and, on its knees now, back turned to Buffy, dug into the feast with one primal howl.

The primate animal Slayer inside of Buffy jumped to life at the attack and she lurched forward, almost letting out a snarl herself. Her free hand, one still holding the flashlight high above the both of them, grabbed at an opposing shoulder and whipped the creature around. A flash of unruly, chocolate colored locks flew with the head. A matching pair of doe eyes, empty, silent in their home, and a mouthful of blood turned to look at the Slayer. A wrinkled forehead, flared nostrils, and a set of protruding canines marked the hell mouth's most famous monster.

Buffy was ready to strike, ready to hit, but her mind came to from a film of shock around her head, rather than her fists. The flashlight dropped to the ground.

"Faith?"

(Maybe a commercial or potty break could go in here. Or they could just fix the goddamn line break button.)

Her chest tightened beneath her shirt, beneath her skin her organs clashed and brewed in rejection. No, Faith. No, not her. Not, no. The same level of shock radiated from the vampire. Tumbling over her own feet, discarding the meal she had previously been locked on, the vampire fumbled until standing, reaching inches over the Slayer in height. The demonic mask disappeared and returned a more familiar image. Faith, a Slayer. The Slayer. Her sleeves quickly wiped away the excess red mess and her eyes wildly skipped away.

Buffy picked up her flashlight, never letting her gaze falter once. Faith.

Dead—

Or, undead. Sired. Whatever….

This was something she couldn't slay. Well, technically she could, but … why? Destroy a once friend, more enemy, now fated foe for starving on rats beneath her little sister's high school?

"What… what are you doing here, Faith? You're supposed to be in L.A, in jail, what happened? Why are you…" No need to finish. The vampire had secluded herself a few feet back, cautious towards Buffy, though showing strangely some sort of wanting, need. Her hands were wrung together, clasped, unclasped, trembling, and falling to her sides. She couldn't decide what to do with herself.

"They… they were asking for you."

…

Buffy blinked. It wasn't exactly the response she was searching for, but never the less, she prodded. "Who? Who was asking for me?"

"I told them you'd be here soon! You… you were just… late. Maybe you'd lost your way. I… I didn't know. I didn't know!" Agitated, frowning upon herself and beginning to pace the floor, Faith kept her gaze lowered, keeping it close to the ground and letting it remain there, only every few moments staring towards the _real_ Slayer. "They gave me a trophy. It's gold and… i-it has my name on it. Mother put it on the mantle this evening and…" Another bout of frustration seemed to cloud Faith's mind as her hands raced towards her chest, both thumbs digging their fleshy skin into the exact spot where her heart would be.

Where her fingers landed were already growing holes in the fabric of her shirt, blotches of red, torn, and slashed skin appearing, instead of the typical olive, toned colour. Frowning, taking one more cautious step forward so that they both stood near eye to eye, Buffy reached her own controlled hand out, gently gripping the twitchy hands and pulling them away from the raw spot.

"Don't…" Allowing the touch, though obviously not approving, Faith reached up to bat Buffy's hands away, which in turn lightly pushed the vampire up against the wall, and continued examining. She pulled the neck of the shirt down, revealing the full extent of claw marks against the pale, still chest. "It wouldn't come out. It's stuck, still there. Stuck inside." Buffy listened to the momentarily lucid minute of conversation, found no meaning in Faith's words, and stepped back once more. The brief sentences crumbled into a strange squeak escaping the vampire's lips and slowly disappeared into the air. She started sinking against the wall.

"What, Faith? What's still inside? What're you …" Buffy blinked, crouching down cautiously next to her sister Slayer. "Your soul." She whispered, "You've got your soul."

She couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity, of sympathy for the vampire. Faith, it seemed, had always been so free, so careless, and now, confined to the misfortune of her mind and a soul beneath her cold, dead, walking body couldn't have been easy. The moment lasted longer than it should have, and Buffy was pulling Faith to her feet. "You can't stay here alone."

Prolly' not the end. However, I don't know. It all sorta' depends. Role Reversal number two (involving two totally different characters and plot changes) shall arrive soon.


	2. Chapter 2

The Diamond Sea (Part Two)

Part Two of the First Reversal, Second to soon be Released, yo.

Kay.

#&!

From basement to basement, from evil to good, the mind was slowly, slowly caving in, shutting off, disintegrating into a small pile of dust. The body was relocated, Sunnydale High, Summer's Headquarters. This time there were chains.

It hurt Buffy, plugging the vampire up into the wall to deal by herself with her dementia. It hurt to watch her, thumbing at her torn and ripped wrists, murmuring into her knees how bright everything was in the lonely basement. She may stand on the steps, not yet making her presence known, watching her once comrade talk to invisible monsters and dance the inevitable steps towards insanity.

She wasn't sure; she didn't know what happened behind the skin, bone, and inside the brain. Everything that escaped the lips was jumbled and mixed with two different people.

Faith One and Faith Two, two different parts of the body.

Who was this?

Not the Slayer. Not the redeemed member of society. Not the esteemed, vengeful vampire. Just a body, a broken body, a brain, a mindless brain, and teeth.

There had officially been disapproval of Buffy's "thoughtless action". No one wanted a killer lurking in the basement. No one wanted to hear the moaning of an invisible ghost downstairs. Buffy didn't like it, not knowing what happened, not knowing what was wrong. But she listened, like a replaying recording in her mind, thumbing through every syllable, searching for hidden meaning, something other than "From beneath you it devours", which was suddenly a favourite of the vampire's.

Some days, she was okay. She was fine. She was Faith, she was Faith.

She was.

She would sit calmly and silently sip the blood Buffy would bring her, occasionally asking quietly where they were, to which no answer would come.

Some days, she wasn't fine. She wasn't okay in any sense.

But, as silently promised, the chains came off after days of observation. The basement door would just remain… locked. Buffy couldn't decide which was worse, trapping her in one single cubic foot of space, or keeping her roaming in one slightly larger.

Today, a moderately sane one, the second and final meal was being delivered, Faith in her usual position towards the corner, her back facing Buffy, not allowing her to see the rough, vampiric side of hunger and eating. And today, there was a visitor.

Buffy, sitting on the very edge of the cot, and Dawn, seated in a middle step on the stairwell, watching, observing the ways of the creature she had so been protected from.

She was interested; suffice to say, in what exactly was different about this new Faith, from the suave hipster she had met so many years ago. She looked the same. She even walked the same, smelled the same, however, Dawn had noticed, there was certain glint in the vampire's eyes that hadn't been there before.

The only sounds in the basement floor were soft, hidden slurps hidden behind a mask of fury. It reminded Buffy easily of their first encounter in the High School.

The rats.

There was the same strange way she looked at everything, as if the only way she knew was edible, and inedible.

Summers sisters, tense on their seats, raised slightly in apprehension, unsure what they were expecting to happen, breathed a universal sigh of relief as the empty mug was slowly, ungracefully set down. A sound, unfamiliar to Dawn, too recognizable to Buffy, escaped the creature's closed throat. Once more, Buffy was reminded of the rats as a low, dangerous purr was released into the already anxious air.

"Dawn…" Buffy started, standing slowly from her perch, keeping her eyes locked on the frozen backside of their guest.

Already at Buffy's side, waiting for further instruction, though slowly being ushered away by her sister, Dawn hadn't much time to process what happened as it did. There was no time it seemed to notice the body tackling her own, suspending her on the ground and lowering the thick, pulsing jaws to her jugular.

Faith straddled the youngest Summers girl, growling, roaring with a primal energy that even the Slayer herself barely recognized. Her hands were around her throat, her canines grazing the skin with each heated attempt.

The oldest Summers, armed only with her fists threw herself into the attack, grabbing at the neck of the vampire, yanking and pulling, and only being met with a throbbing head, thanks to a powerful elbow strike to her forehead.

She ripped the gold cross off of her necklace, though as small as it was, she wasn't expecting much damage, and pressed it firmly against the vampire's back. A loud, painful yelp, followed by a scrambling of feet towards the stairwell bought Dawn enough time for escape, Buffy enough time to turn the tables, and Faith enough time to be pushed to the ground and painfully straddled.

Fists reigned mercilessly, splitting the pale demon's lips, blowing holes in her cheeks, breaking the nose with each powerful hit.

Buffy hit, and hit, hit. She couldn't stop. She had to make her pay, had to punish her, even though part of her didn't want to. Part of her knew, understood, it wasn't Faith. It wasn't her doing it, and it wasn't unfair. But someone had to be punished.

And once finally, finally released from the beating, the vampire was up and running in moments, escaping the basement, tearing out of the house, down the darkened street, and back to where she had come from.

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	3. Chapter 3

The Diamond Sea

Chapter Three or Something

Disc: Whatever.

* * *

It was partially her own fault, she knew. Dawn shouldn't have been there. She shouldn't have been allowed to see. And Faith was dangerous. Is dangerous. And she had to find her. She head beaten her to a bloody, walking pulp. Maybe that was a mistake. Faith was so uncentered right now, so … she didn't know. She was insane, that much was for sure. And she had a soul, which seemed to be fading in and out of control. How else, Buffy wondered in sarcastic reverence to her job, could she be spending a perfectly good Friday evening, other than chasing an insane vampire across the streets of Sunnydale?

She had been brought inevitably to Restfield cemetery, her special sense for the Vampire Slayer leading her quite close to the direct point of the hybrid creature's location. She explored in a quiet calm the many rows of tombstones, and ended her search in a nearly abandoned mausoleum.

The door was painfully cracked open, and a wispy smell of tainted blood and rotting flesh was unleashed into the pure, holy cemetery air. Buffy let herself inside, already prepared for the site she would encounter. Her sense reeled, though the image was already burnt into her impressionable mind where the category of Faith was involved. The vampire stood bent over a torn open stone coffin, scavenging what was left of the jarred corpse's insides. The body must have been new, she must have smelt it.

Buffy watched with a pained eye as her once enemy picked the bones of an already dead victim. Reduced, like a rat to the bones of an insect. She placed a hand on the creature's shoulder, who in turn whipped around, a mouthful of blood and tainted insides.

"I'm sorry." Buffy murmured into the air.

The vampire's face was already bruising, eyes swollen shut, her nose crooked, bent strangely. A strange mixture of her blood and her victim's stained her lips, and a trail flowing down her chin.

Buffy tried again, squirming beneath the vampire's one-eyed stare. "I need you at home. I can't let you just … be out here. Not by yourself." The vampire dropped her casualty and slowly circled around the coffin, thin, lengthy fingers trailing across smooth, cool stone.

She stopped at the front where a decorative, stone cross stood tall, and slowly pulled her fingers down the spine. A thin edge of smoke rose from her fingertips, and she did nothing towards removing them. The one visible eye she still had roamed slowly, daintily across the coffin and finally danced their way up towards Buffy. A small smile played against her lips.

"You're dead."

"Faith…"

"No, you're dead. And this is the last time you're going to visit me." The vampire removed her jacket. She started to pull uncomfortably at her shirt but was tentative and undeciding. In the end, she left it on, but kept her hands twitching in front of her, holding on tightly to the stem of the cross. The sound of cooking flesh filled the air, but no smell was present.

Buffy stood stationary, listening to the garbled commentary, but refusing to move accordingly, to stop the vampire in her sudden likeness for melting herself. All she wanted was to bring her home, to feel that steady vibration in the pit of her stomach that meant her fellow Slayer was nearby. She was circling the coffin now, her eyes dancing around, agitated, and searching for something.

Buffy would attempt to soothe the demon again, try and hold her steady, to inject some sense that she wasn't a ghost, wasn't dead, not there to cause harm, but instead her body had frozen. She could only stand and watch the girl, marvelling at the history between them, unable to pull away her wet and glassy glance because she cared too much.

She was sorry, God, was she sorry. If maybe she had said something different, been present just one more time, even given the rogue slayer a different glance as they stood side by side, defending the street of Sunnydale from untimely evil. Guilt was flooding and drowning her, as were a sudden washing wave of tears that fell fresh down her placid cheeks. Faith was gone. She was just a shell now, a violent, disrupted soul, and there was nothing left but these strange outbursts, and an everlasting blood lust.

Buffy took a seat on the dusty ground, dropping her head of blonde hair into her hands, and unravelling the sadness inside of her. She let out a forlorn, choking sob, crying for the loss of a partner, a once friend, and a recovering murderer. She had started to forgive her, she had started, and then – whatever, she was sired. She went to Los Angeles. None of it mattered anymore, Faith was …

… Living partially inside of her head.

… A sick, sick casing of someone great.

… Draping herself over the stone cross, emitting a long trail of smoke from the upper half of her body.

Buffy stood quickly, furiously wiping away the fallen tears and threw herself at the vampire. She grabbed her by the neck, like a mother to their pup, and yanked her away from the stone. The smoke stopped, the vampire drooped in her hold, and Buffy was supporting her, soon pushing her up against the wall, holding her in place as her knees began to buckle, and kissing her devilishly.


	4. Chapter 4

The Diamond Sea

Been a little bit. We're back on track.

* * *

There was a body beside her, clinging on tightly to each of her sides, hair splayed and strewn across her abdomen, face buried into her chest, sleep dancing lightly with the creature's head. And Buffy pulled herself away, slipping out of the grasp, rolling away from the vampire, she grabbed for her discarded clothes, quietly putting them on, and graciously stacking the vampire's into a neat pile beside her. And then, lying back down, propping her head on one hand, she watched. She watched where the vampire's chest should be rising and falling, though it only remain stable. She watched where the eyes beneath their lids should be moving, but only remained stationary.

This thing was not living. It was not alive. It was a moving, speaking, tired creature, with a ball of light stuffed and cramped inside of its chest. Buffy found herself gently stroking the pale cheek, sympathy leaking from her eyes, and a sudden disgusting wish that grew inside of her brain. She wanted to take it away.

She wanted to hear the vampire's rolling snarl near her ear, wanted to hear her whisper threats that she could indeed carry out, all of these things, and feel the danger falling off of Faith's body as they pulsed together.

Buffy's daydream broke, unfortunately, as two chocolate coloured eyes quickly sparked open. The Slayer withdrew her hand from the skin, as if burned, and forced a small, closed lip grin. "Morning." She murmured.

And they were no longer touching, no longer connected except by the fulfilling gaze that so rarely faltered, Faith's own eyes burning bright and deep into Buffy's. She spoke of nothing, though her numb lips were painfully noticeable, as were the purple thumbprints where bruising holds had been made throughout the night. If Buffy imagined hard enough, she could pretend that Faith was lucid, pretend that they were normal, and together, and in love, despite the scenery.

It was Faith's incoherent mumbling that brought her out of the thought, and out of the gaze. It wouldn't happen. Faith was damaged, dangerous, and seemingly unaware of the world around her. The Slayer found her hands tangled once more inside the web of dark tresses, her mouth forming soft coos in between the vampire's ears. "I want to help you…" She thought aloud, "I want to make you… better, again. I want you to be how you used to be."

Faith's eyes danced, wild and excited as she nodded in understanding.

Buffy planted a tiny, lasting kiss on the Rogue's lips, her forehead, her nose, and slowly began to rise. She pressed the folded clothes up towards the vampire, and whispered into the echo of the crypt, "Sleep. I'll be back."

* * *

There were stacks of books, piles of stacks of piles, all spread unevenly and less sparingly around what used to be a living room. There were people littered as well, potential slayers on their stomachs, thumbing through worn, and wasting pages, searching futily for anything with the words 'The' and 'First' printed in overly dramatisized ink. Willow was around their somewhere, the Slayer guessed, hidden behind volumes of titles of texts. These had all been recently imported from Angel's Los Angeles collection. Willow had brought down a select few after her brief trip, and Angel had sent down the rest all together.

Buffy sat stagnant, idly turning a page every few moments, seated at a desk that had been moved into the living room for research purposes. Buffy wouldn't admit it to herself, or much less to anyone around her, but she wasn't particuarly helping the idle cause of impending apocalypse. True, there were many pressing issues she should be worried about, should be caring for, but presently her mind had drifted to a leatherbound, isolated book in her lap, knees propped so the titleless text might only be seen by her eyes, if any eyes were to penetrate past the inpenetrateable wall of bookage.

Her eyes scanned each page's title, 'Soul Searching','Soul Stealing', 'Soul Surviving'. None of it was of what she wanted, nor what she needed presently. She didn't need to look inside her own, or Faith's complete lack of soul, nor steal it from someone, or survive whatever wrath it may put upon them. She just needed to find it.

This, here, would be where Willow could help. However, Buffy knew it was pressing to request the aid in the rekindling of what could and most likely would be a mass murdering monster. It was mutiny, she realized, to reensoul the monster that she was born to kill. But if the world was going to end, again, she might as well up the challenge slightly, right?

Besides, Faith wouldn't be a physical, or spatial challenge. She would be alive, not in the physical sense, but alive in a way that they could touch and feel each other. They could breathe and smell each other. This was how it was supposed to be. And the only help she seemed to have, was herself.

Buffy shut the unhelpful book and slid it over to the side of the desk. She bent down to a slowly shrinking pile of books at her feet and lifted the next one to be read. As she set it down on the desktop, one of the pages extended out farther than the rest, its ends slightly bent, as if it were a page simply inserted into the book, rather than ripped from the spine. Buffy opened the loose cover, "The 15th Century Demon Guide.. " The book itself held no interest, but the hanging page...

Buffy pulled it from it's hold and pushed the book itself away. The page was thin, airy, like it would crumble in her hands if she gripped it too hard. The words were nearly imprinted into the paper, all appearing at first as if they were in a foreign, demonic language, but after a moment of deeper searching, just written in very rolling font.

Willow's handwriting...

Buffy glanced briefly towards the witch, her left side just visible behind two mountains of books, surrounding the couch where she sat. Buffy turned back towards the page, quickly scanning the page, the words. This had been the spell. Willow had used this spell in Los Angeles, and it must have gotten lost between some of the books. This is what she had used to restore Angel's soul...

* * *

There weren't many items in the crypt, not many trinkets and bulbs, and shelves. But from what was available the vampire had made a memorable mess, making it increasingly difficult to walk among the floors without stepping or crunching on some bits of glass and stone. The large, stone sarcophagus in the middle of the room hadn't been touched, and atop it lay the unmoving vampire, eyes staring up to the ceiling, lips parted slightly, hands by her side.

Buffy hadn't expected the restless creature to have wait comfortably all day, but the mess she thought, was a little over the top. Approaching the vampire, she let her lips fold into a small smile and bent over the pale face of Faith. The vampire sat up to her elbows, watching the Slayer with reverance, her eyes empty and draining.

"Don't worry.." Buffy murmured, bending her lips down to meet the cold, quiet ones beneath her, "Everything will be just as normal. Just wait a little longer.."

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	5. Chapter 5

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The Diamond Sea

Author Note: It's been a long time! Wow. Well, let's keep on trucking, shall we? Oh and I believe we're coming to an end, two more chapters maybe? Review!

Disclaimer: Still, as always, nothing.

#&

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And had it been a mistake. The Slayer of light had taken to dozing gently in a dusty, crumbled chair, her head bent and set against her loosely balled fist. All that was left to do was wait, wait for the transformation to begin and to complete, wait for the ghost of Faith to disappear and the new, proper, and updated model to emerge.

No soul…

Buffy thought, unceremoniously. It seemed Faith had always been without a soul, never a care in the world. And now, to see her so weakened, so distraught over the accidental death of a small frog beneath her feet, had forced Buffy to unfair action.

It was a terrible thought, the enjoyment of seeing Faith with the likeness of attempted murder of her little sister, rather than Faith crying and muttering to the invisible circus Gods that seemed to constantly surround her.

Now, Buffy woke with a start, and found a pair of cold, clammy hands riding up her sides, tickling the edge of her warm skin, and journeying down towards what had seemed to be reserved simply for the undead. She inhaled sharply—

--and reveled in the sweet sound of rolling growl into her ears.

"Good morning, lover."

When she turned to find the pending oppressor, though it was quite obvious who it was standing to her backside, Buffy found her lips curling into a smile at the brightness Faith's face held, the strong stance and stature she was presenting, and the way she seemed to glow, even in death.

The vampire pulled back the blonde's head less than gently and placed a long lasting kiss that began at the Slayer's neck and travelled all the way up to her lips. Her hands maneuvered to places and creases and pulled and tugged at clothing, and the Slayer stood, pushing the corpse up against the wall with a resounding thump.

There was a moment of realization, of epiphany where both realized they were clearly defining fate and the laws of Nature that simply stated: Slayer kill Vampire.

And they both painfully enjoyed it.

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Where had it been written exactly that an emotional Slayer—Vampire relationship was dangerous? Nowhere plainly, If you ignored the instances that were the life of Buffy Summers. But the light Slayer 

couldn't wrap her mind around it, couldn't exactly pinpoint where in her mind she was so attracted to the vampire she currently conquered. She controlled her, it seemed. She brought her from death to a new and, in her opinion, improved life. It was despite the fact that Faith was required to feed on an average of three or so human beings each night, and despite the fact that Buffy ignored it upon each instance.

She looked for love in all of the lonely places, and always had.

Now was no exception, standing before the council of judges that were her family, her friends, and her mentor. There was no excuse now, except for her unappreciated unconditional love for the body that was Faith. It was being made more than evident that she loved the body, not the mind.

Faith had swallowed through many stages of mind, from an innocent, insecure little girl, to a jealous, volatile woman, next to a sequentially sorry person, and finally to the varying extremes of insanity and violence.

Buffy had loved maybe one, two of those people, but the body had always been an infatuation of hers. So, it was wrong then? That's what they were telling her. It was wrong to love the toned, shining skin, the length of airy, chocolate colored hair, the sad doe eyes, always ticking wildly. It was all wrong.

So then, could she be plainly asked to kill her creation? To destroy what she had made and celebrated?

Apparently so.

"She must be gone. I don't care how, or what, but she had to leave, Buffy. Her presence is not only dangerous, but distracting, and honestly, it would be a very childish and amateur choice on your part to keep her around."

Giles. God, like he understood.

Could they control her, just as she controlled Faith? It would seem so, she thought, moving one foot in front of the other, taking herself slowly, slowly towards the cemetery.

And there was Faith, laying along a sarcophagus, picking her teeth with the bones of a million blonde victims, her own personal "Buffys", their bodies littered half-decomposed beneath her feet, their necks stained with blood.

And Buffy approached her backside, staring gently at the shelf of luxurious flowing hair that fell from beneath the vampire's neck, she noticed an easiness among the creature, a peace that seemed to fufill her from within and out. She was dozing, maybe, or in such a calm concentration that it only appeared so.

Buffy raised the stake above her head—

Using both hands—

And inhaled deeply--

And began to bring her arms down, hard and quick.

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End file.
